


Self-Preservation

by pwnedbypineapple



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Asexual Awareness Week, Asexual Character, Asexuality, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pwnedbypineapple/pseuds/pwnedbypineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She catches him looking, and she’s all too good at asking the most perceptive questions. Or, Lagertha understands a thing or two about self-preservation. Written in the context of asexual!Athelstan. Slight Athelstan/Lagertha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Self-Preservation

**Author's Note:**

> Last minute thing for Asexual Awareness Week 2013. Normally, I wouldn't be too keen on the idea of an asexual monk because that feels like a cliche; this is a random idea that I pursued out of curiosity. But, having written it, the concept is beginning to appeal to me.

"Have you never seen a pregnant woman before?"

Athelstan starts. The knife slips, and it is only by the grace of recently acquired reflexes that it does not cut him. He nearly drops the fish as well, and it takes him a few long moments to once more obtain a firm grip on his task. When he looks up, across the table, Lagertha's small smirk causes him to wince.

But it's not an unkind expression. Just amused.

"I-I'm sorry?" Athelstan isn't entirely sure of the question. The surprise had been mostly instinctive. Perhaps he'd heard it wrong.

Lagertha's right hand comes to rest on her curved stomach. She looks at him, head cocked slightly to the side, still amused. "I have seen your eyes stray to me more than once, in these past few weeks. Is pregnancy something new to you?"

Heat creeps up into Athelstan's face, and he drops his eyes in embarrassment. She doesn't seem angry, and that's a relief, but... how can he explain it? He now knows why the question had been sprung on him; with the rhythmic action of skinning fish, his eyes had drifted and stolen a quick glance. Nothing more than that. Nothing more than curiosity in something foreign to him, though not in the way Lagertha thinks.

"No," he says. "I've... seen it before." Not for a long time, he thinks, with a stab of melancholy. "I just..." He fails to come up with an adequate explanation and so substitutes. "... New life is a beautiful thing."

No, he reflects with an internal sigh, once the words have left his mouth. Not convincing at all.

Lagertha raises an eyebrow. "Is that what your god says?"

Try as he might, Athelstan cannot gauge what she means by the question. "Yes," he answers softly.

Lagertha picks up her own knife once more; her hands are slick with fish, but she seems not to care. Even as the new Jarl's wife, she does not place herself above them. She pitches in to help wherever she is needed, and Athelstan wonders at her. He watches as Lagertha begins to smoothly skin the creature over her bowl. "Then answer me this," she says, as she works, "why does your god require you to be celibate?"

The question jars Athelstan almost as much as the first. He looks intently at her; is she really that perceptive? She gives no hint of her feelings, merely continues her work, until her eyes flick up when the silence continues on too long.

Belatedly, Athelstan remembers that questions usually require answers. "It is a mark of dedication and sacrifice," he says, stumbling a little over his words. "We are supposed to deny ourselves the pleasures of marriage and... and procreation, in order to dedicate ourselves more fully to God."

He cannot be sure, but it seems as if Lagertha becomes thoughtful. "You say 'supposed to'," she points out. "Did this arrangement not satisfy you?"

Athelstan opens his mouth and then closes it. He berates himself for not choosing his words more carefully; they'd come out mostly on their own, while he was distracted by thoughts he had not considered in a long time. Of course Lagertha would pick up on it.

He doesn't know what to say. He's never broached the subject before, least of all with someone from a culture so alien to the one he originates from, and the thought scares him. It scares him to think that yet another thing separates him from those around him.

He's just about settled on offering a careful lie, God forgive him, when Lagertha speaks up again. "You can speak freely, priest," she says; something in her voice is oddly gentle. He's grown accustomed to his title being used as an insult, but this is merely friendly. "You will find no judgment here."

Perhaps that is true. Lagertha certainly sounds sincere, and she has never given him a reason to suspect otherwise. But how does one explain it? Of course the arrangement had satisfied him. It had almost been an excuse, as hindsight had informed him. And how does one explain the feeling that one's sacrifice was inadequate, because it hadn't really been a sacrifice at all?

"It satisfied me," Athelstan says quietly. "It wasn't very hard to do."

Lagertha pauses in her skinning and glances at him for a long moment, before returning to her work. "I thought as much," she says.

"You - what?" Athelstan asks.

"You have never shown the slightest interest in sleeping with anyone here." Lagertha's frankness startles Athelstan, again, almost as badly as her initial question. "I might have thought you only had admirable fortitude - but I can read a man's eyes. I know when there is lust. You have none."

Athelstan stares at her. There is something almost... wonderful, about hearing it so directly from someone he had not expected to understand. Then again, he knows that it isn't wise to underestimate Lagertha. "You... you can tell?"

"Did I not just say that?" Lagertha shakes her at him. "It isn't something you can hide easily, priest. Your people's ideas about sex are very different from ours. Here, you are a fish who is out of water." She has finished skinning the fish and sets it down decisively, as if to emphasize her point.

Relief settles in Athelstan's stomach. He had never expected anyone to understand, and yet here she is, calmly accepting it as fact. It makes him bold, and he finds himself, once again, speaking before really considering his words. "I- I have been thankful many times for being sent to the monastery, for that reason," he admits, quietly. Never has he breathed a word of this fact, hardly even to himself, for fear of sounding selfish. For fear of _being_ selfish. "I would have been expected to marry, otherwise."

Lagertha smiles at him, easing the sudden fear in his stomach at having admitted so out loud. "Your poor wife would have been left unsatisfied, then," she says, sounding amused. "You wouldn't have been able to look at her as a husband should."

Athelstan smiles tentatively back. "I wouldn't say that," he says softly, almost inaudibly. True, he'd never looked at a woman and desired sex with her, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate beauty. After all, he'd almost been ashamed, when he'd caught himself stealing glances at Lagertha's pregnant stomach - almost, but for Lagertha's pride. She is proud of her stomach, proud of the son she carries, and that pride is a fierce, beautiful thing. It invites glances, rather than turns them away, and it had caught Athelstan's attention. He'd never desired children or the business of making them, but there is still something fascinating, regardless... and Lagertha herself can command the attention of an entire room if she wants.

Lagertha's smile fades slowly, as she lapses into thought. "I understand," she says seriously, at last, and Athelstan knows that she doesn't mean his unusual state. "Being a priest protected you."

Once again, she has hit close to home, and Athelstan's relief fades. He is not wary of her, however; merely dampened by memories. It had protected him from many things, even death.

Lagertha looks down at her full bowl. "That is why a woman must choose her husband carefully, if she can. Why it is good for her to learn to fight and become a shieldmaiden. The world does not care, so we must protect ourselves however we can. Did your monastery offer that for you? A shield?"

Athelstan meets her gaze. "... Yes," he says, after a long moment.

She looks at him appraisingly. It is not disapproving. "I understand you better, now," she says. She grabs one of the clean cloths and wipes her hands methodically. "And I apologize, if any of us have made you uncomfortable. If anyone bothers you from now on, on this subject, tell me. I will take care of them."

Athelstan is stunned. Eyes wide, he stares at her, and Lagertha shakes her head. "You are not finished," she says, indicating the knife and three un-skinned fish that lay in his bowl, completely forgotten by him. She gives him a nod and leaves, and Athelstan stares after her, only catching himself when she is gone.

He sets to work again, shaking his head in admiration. Perhaps he should have expected it from her; after all, Lagertha is... different, from anyone he's ever met. In one breath, she could be cold and yet utterly kind, and he has already seen her kindness at work in the past.

Athelstan smiles to himself as he works.


End file.
